


Howling in the Cold

by alphaplease



Category: Frozen (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Frozen (2013) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry but it needed to be done, M/M, Magic, Stiles is Anna and Derek is Kristoff, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaplease/pseuds/alphaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go play by yourself," Lydia grumbles, shoving the small boy off her bed and snuggling back into her warm blankets.</p><p>Stiles lands on the floor with a soft thump, looking around, till an idea comes to him. He smiles a toothy grin and climbs back onto Lydia's bed, shaking her awake. He leans in close to her ear, pulling up one of her eyelids.</p><p>"Do you wanna' build a snow man?" he says slowly, and Lydia opens her eyes sleepily, smiling.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Lydia has ice powers, Stiles is lonely, true love is real, and they all live happily ever after. (The Frozen/Teen Wolf AU you never asked for)</p><p>This is currently on hiatus. Sorry to those who are waiting for a new chapter, I do intend to finish it, but It won't be for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, but I was listening to the soundtrack of frozen and was like what if Stiles is Anna and Derek is Kristoff and grumpy and just I'm sorry but this happened.  
> You do not have to have seen frozen to get the story (I suggest you watch it if you haven't, it's pretty awesome), but if you have, here is the who's who for the main characters:  
> Stiles - Anna, Lydia - Elsa, Derek - Kristoff, Peter - Hans  
> I'll add more characters as they come up, but for now, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did writing it!

Lydia felt something tugging at her blanket. She rolled over, pulling at her sheet, pausing when she heard a whispered "Lydia! Psst!"

She ignored the voice, feigning sleep, till the voice started up again, even louder, "Lydia!"

She let out a small groan when the body that voice belonged to fell down on her, moving to make itself comfortable.

"Lydia!" Stiles said. "Wake up, wake up!"

"Stiles," Lydia groaned out, not opening her eyes, "go back to sleep."

"I just cant!" Stiles said as dramatically as a 6 year-old could, flopping onto his back and waving a hand over his head. "The skies awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!"

"Go play by yourself," Lydia grumbles, shoving the small boy off her bed and snuggling back into her warm blankets.

Stiles lands on the floor with a soft thump, looking around, till an idea comes to him. He smiles a toothy grin and climbs back onto Lydia's bed, shaking her awake. He leans in close to her ear, pulling up one of her eyelids.

"Do you wanna' build a snow man?" he says slowly, and Lydia opens her eyes sleepily, smiling.

They race down the stairs to the ballroom, Stiles continually shouting "come on, come on come on," and Lydia shushing him, though knowing it would be of no use.

They shove open the large doors together, giggling, and Stiles runs in front of Lydia.

"Do the magic! Do the magic!" he cries, and watches in awe as Lydia slowly rotates her hands, small icicles forming in gaps between.

"Ready?" Lydia asks the 6 year old, and Stiles nods his head, eyes wide and excited. Lydia thrusts her arms up into the air, the small ball of ice she formed shooting up and out till the whole room was painted in ice, small snowflakes falling down from the ceiling.

"This is amazing!" Stiles shouts, hands waving around eagerly and screaming with childish delight. He skips around, hands skimming through the building up piles of snow, till Lydia leans close.

"Watch this," she says, and stamps her foot on the ground, frozen ice shooting out from under her foot and expanding to cover the floor. Stiles giggles with childish glee, spreading his arms out as he slowly slides along the ice, before running and sliding back over to Lydia, knocking her over.

Lydia laughs, small and girly, and starts rolling up a ball of snow, spinning it in the snow till she had it big enough, and dumps it in between her and Stiles.

Stiles does the same, attempting to mimic Lydia, and gathers enough snow, putting it on top of Lydia's larger ball. He goes to sit down and puts his hands on his cheeks, squishing them in and laughing as he watched Lydia add a third layer, then eyes, a nose, and hands to their snowman. She turns them both around and stands behind the snowman, taking its' hands in hers and moving them around.

"Hi, I'm Scott," she says, trying to lower her voice, wiggling the stick arms around, "and I like warm hugs." Stiles rubs his hands together before scrambling up and throwing his arms around the snowman.

"I love you Scott," he giggles, looking into its' eyes and then over to his sister. Stiles grabs onto Olaf's hands, pulling him along, and Lydia stands up behind it, pushes her hands out in front of her and moves them around on the ice, propelling them by shooting streams of ice out her hands.

Stiles soon stops, and moves to climb up a large pile of snow gathering near the side of the room. Lydia picks him up and moves to the top, sits him in her lap and slides down the snow. Stiles squeals, clutching onto Lydia's arms, and leaps up when they get to the bottom of the 'hill' into another pile of snow.

Stiles jumps out, and Lydia says "hang on" before forming another pile of snow for Stile to jump on to.

"Catch me!" Stiles laughs, jumping from pile to pile of snow that Lydia forms.

"Again! Again!" Stiles shouts, jumping higher and higher, and Lydia's eyes grow wide.

"Wait! Slow down!" she shouts, but it's too late. Stiles jumps from the pile of snow, and Lydia's too slow, can't make another in time for Stiles to land. She shoots out, trying to soften his landing, but slips on the ice behind her, her aim going off and hitting him instead.

"Stiles!" she shouts and he falls to the ground, rolling down a small pile of snow. She rushes over to him, and he's not moving.

"St-Stiles," she whispers, clutching at his shoulders, moving his head to face her. She watches as a small section of his brunette hair fades to white, and starts to cry.

"Mama! Papa!" she cries out, clutching Stiles close to her. The floor around her freezes, and descends to the rest of the room and up the walls, tinting it in icy blue.

"You're okay, Stiles," she says quietly as tears stream down her face, "I got you." She pulls him closer as the doors slam open, her parents stopping at the sight in front of them.

"Lydia, what've you done," her father says as he and his wife rush over to them. "This is getting out of hand!"

"It was an accident," she whimpers, turning to look down at Stiles face, pulling him closer to her. "I'm sorry Stiles."

Their mother reaches out to Stiles, quickly pulling him into her arms.

"He's ice cold," she whispers, looking up at her husband.

"I know where we have to go," he murmurs, looking down at Stiles.

They rush into the library, sweeping down books, thumbing through others, until they find one they need. With Stiles clutched to his mother's chest, his father opens up to the middle, pictures of wolves and glowing eyes staring back out at them. He nods, turning the page and pulling out the map.

His father calls out for a horse, please, hurry, and they run down the hall to the front door. Map clutched in hand, Stiles' father climbs onto one of the horses, Lydia holding onto his back with shaking hands, and his wife goes on the other, Stiles cradled in her arms.

They race along, a trail of frozen land appearing behind them, until they arrive at a clearing, red, blue and yellow eyes staring at them from the dark.

"Please," the man shouts voice breaking, "help! My son!"

Lydia clings onto her father's pants as the eyes move in slowly, unblinking. They hear shifting, and a lady of approximately 30 walks out, loose brown and dirtied clothing hanging onto her thin frame.

Wolves circle around her as she walks forward, as if protecting her, and the king pulls his wife and Lydia closer.

"Your majesty," she says slowly, voice rough with disuse. She kneels slowly, head bowed, before turning to face Lydia, taking Lydia's hand in hers.

"Born with the powers or cursed?" she asks, looking at the king.

"Uh, born," the king stutters, "but they're getting stronger."

The lady stands up and moves to the queen. The queen moves her arms out slowly, holding Stiles wrapped up in a red, fading blanket. The others look on with anxious eyes as the lady reaches her hand out, placing it gently on Stiles head.

"You're lucky it wasn't his heart," she whispers, pulling her hand back. "The heart is not so easily changed. But," she continued, moving her head around, "the head can be persuaded."

"Do what you must," the king insists, voice desperate, hand clutching at Lydia's shoulder.

"I recommend we remove all magic," she says, hands twisting around Stiles' head, "even memories of magic to be safe. But don't worry," she says, smiling sadly at the parents. "I'll leave the fun."

The family watches as the small light of Stiles' memories is lifted, manipulated, and placed back.

They look up at the lady, and she murmurs, "don't worry, he'll be safe."

"But he won't remember I have powers?" Lydia questions, voice wobbly with unshed tears.

The king places a consoling hand on Lydia's shoulder. "It's for the best," he responds.

The lady makes to move, before turning back, eyes on Lydia.

"Listen to me," she breathes, hands moving again to clasp Lydia's. "There is beauty in your powers, but also great danger. You must learn to control it. Fear will be your enemy."

Lydia gasps, turning into her father, hears him take in a shaky breath.

"We'll protect her," he consoles his wife, then looks back at the wolf with gleaming red eyes. "She can learn to control it, I'm sure. Until then, we'll lock the gates. We'll reduce the staff. We will limit her contract with people, keep her powers hidden, from everyone. Including Stiles."

❅~*❅*~❅

Stiles ran down the hall, slipping on the rug. He jumps up, looking out the frosted windows, and smiles, giggling.

He runs back down the hall to Lydia's new room, twisting on the spot in front of her door, before leaning in.

"Lydia?" he calls out, scuffing his shoe on the floor. When no response comes, he knocks on the door.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" he asks, pouting when he gets no response. He leans in, smooshing his face against the keyhole. "It doesn't have to be a snowman!"

"Go away Stiles," he hears Lydia mutter, and he frowns, tears welling in his eyes.

"Okay, bye." Stiles murmurs, walking away with his head held low.

Inside her room, Lydia looks at the door, lips turned down. She turns back to the window, hands resting on the frame, but jerks back with a gasp when the metal starts to freeze.

She confronts her father, eyes shining with tears, and he pulls something from his pocket.

"The gloves will help," he assures her, pulling the white material over her hands. "See? Conceal it"

"Don't feel it," Lydia says after him.

"Don't let it show," they whisper together, looking into each others' eyes. She nods and turns away from her father, walking back up to sit at the window and stare out at the snow.

Lydia's powers grow stronger, uncontrollable. She's lonely, the forced isolation tearing away at her heart, just as it does Stiles'.

❅~* _10 Years Later_ *~❅

Stiles rushes into his parents room, clinging to his mothers and fathers' frame, pulling them in.

"See you in two weeks," he smiles, hugging them tightly, before moving back. They smile back at him, lifting up their bags, and move out the room.

Stiles follows them out till he comes to his room and turns back, giving them a small wave and entering his room.

The king and queen move down the stairs slowly, and see Lydia waiting, hair pinned up and long green dress complimenting her striking orange hair

She curtsies when they come to her, head bowed, before looking back up, asking "do you have to go?"

"You'll be fine, Lydia," her father smiles at her, before reaching over to take his wife's hand in his and walking out the front door.

They board the ship, a purple and pink sunset lighting the sky.

❅~*❅*~❅

The news comes a week later. Stiles is in the library reading, Lydia in her room.

The man starts talking to Stiles, but after the first few sentences, only a few words get through. Their parents ship sunk. A storm. Waves. It's enough though, he gets the idea, and his he shakes his head. No, it can't be. His parents can't be dead. He can't be alone.

He sits there hours after the messenger leaves, shoulders shaking, eyes filled with tears that slowly fall down his face. He slowly rises after the tears stop running, hand sweeping his hoodie sleeve roughly over his wet face and running nose.

He makes his way slowly to Lydia’s room, staring at the door, before nodding slightly to himself. He raises his fist, pausing, before knocking 3 times. He pulls his hand back slowly, staring at the door.

"Lydia?" he questions quietly, waiting a few moments before continuing. "Please, Lydia. I know you're in there. Let me in." He turns his back to the door, sliding down and sitting on the floor, head in his hands. "Please. We're all we've got."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned it before, but just a reminder that Peter is Hans. For the sake of following the frozen plot line (or attempting to anyhow), his age will be closer to Stiles. Stiles is around 19, Lydia is 21, and Peter around 25.  
> Chapters may be a bit slow, as I'm currently working on another story, but I'm trying to keep writing time even between each.  
> Also, neither Teen Wolf nor Frozen is mine (which is sad but oh well), and it's still unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.  
> Enjoy!

❅~* _3 Years Later_ *~❅

"Prince Stiles?" a voice questions, a knock at the door accompanying it.

Stiles let out a sleepy snort, swatting his hand over his head as if batting away a fly.

"Nnghh. Yeah?" Stiles groans out, rising up a bit from his bed before slumping back into the blankets.

"Prince Stiles?" the voice questions again, and Stiles sits up in the bed slowly, mouth opening and closing a few times, hands rubbing at his eyes.

"Sorry to wake you," the voice continues, and Stiles half opens an eye before closing it again.

"No no no,” Stiles reassures, already starting to nod off again, “you didn't, I was already - I've been up for hours," Stiles finishes on a yawn, resting his head on the palm of his hand, already dozing off again.

He lets out a soft snore, head slowly rolling of his palm till it fell, jolting him awake. He sits up straight, eyes still closed.

"Who is it?" Stiles asks, the previous conversation already gone from his sleep-addled mind.

"Uh, still me, prince Stiles. The gates will open soon. Time to get ready," the voice informs from outside the door.

"Oh, of course," Stiles murmurs, arms moving out in an awkward attempt at a stretch. He coughs, clearing his throat, before asking louder, "ready for what?"

"Your... sister's coronation?" the person responds, and Stiles licks his lips a few times, muttering to himself.

"My sisters, my sis... sister's conoration," he says to himself, slowly opening his eyes. His gaze falls on the suit hung up in the corner of his room, all of his books pushed out of the way.

Stiles lets out a gasp, hand moving to cover his mouth. "It's coronation day!" He whispers to himself.

He flings the sheets of, struggling out of his pyjamas and into the [pressed shirt and suit](http://daman.co.id/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Outfit-by-Hugo-Boss-.jpg), struggling to do up the buttons as he rushes out of the door.

He laughs to himself as he runs down the hall, almost slipping on the carpet. He smiles as he comes up to one of the maids, grabbing her hand and swinging her around as he laughs out "it's coronation day!"

He takes in the hallway, the open windows and doors letting in a cool breeze, and shakes his head in disbelief. The rooms look a thousand times lighter, lit up by natural daylight, sunlight so foreign inside the once busy castle.

Stiles slides down the railing of the grand staircase, landing at the bottom in front of the metal armoured statues. He bows to one, reaching over to shake its hand.

"Hello, I'm prince Stiles," he says, trying to tame down the excitement in his voice. He shakes the arm too roughly, and it loosens, falling into his hands.

He looks around, noting the lack of people and shrugs, stuffing the metal arm back into the rest of the armour, and continue to make his way to the entrance of the castle.

He stops halfway there, staring out one of the huge windows.

"I can't wait to meet everyone," he murmurs to himself, hand skimming along the metal frame. He gasps to himself, hand clenching on the frame. "What if I meet the one?"

He looks down at his hand, and smirks at himself. "God, I sound like a prepubescent girl."

He laughs, but deep down, can't help but feel like something will change tonight. That maybe, he won't be so alone.

❅~*❅*~❅

Lydia paces the room, billowing purple cloak trailing out behind her. Her strawberry blonde hair tied up in an intricate braid highlights the dark green dress and purple gloves she wears.

She slowly stops her walking, instead raising her head to look out her windows at the people moving in. The gates still keep her and the rest of the world apart, but she knows she has to open them up, to be crowned as queen.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, letting it out on a sigh.

"Don't let them in. Just, just conceal it," she whispers, clothed hands running over each other.

She treads over to the long wooden table on the side of her room, holding in the centre of it the crown jewels, a golden sceptre and orb. She looks up at the portrait above, her father holding the jewels at his own coronation.

She pulls her gloves off slowly, talking the items in hand, and raises them up as she will do at the coronation.

"Put on a show," she reassures herself, "no-one will know."

She quickly drops the items when they start to freeze, traces of ice sliding over the items.

"It's only for today. Just one day." she tells the air.

With a nod, she flings open her bedroom doors, calling out to open up the gates.

She strolls through the hall till she gets to the designated room, pausing her hand above the door handle, before turning it and entering.

The gates open before Lydia's eyes as she walks through doorway to the balcony. People from the village outside Beacon castle pour in, eager faces searching for the mysterious queen to be.

❅~*❅*~❅

Stiles runs out to the entrance, watching with wide eyes as the gates concealing her from the outside world slowly open to curious faces.

He rushes through as soon as the gap is wide enough, looking around at the unfamiliar faces with a sense of glee. He nods and smiles at the people staring at him, rushing through and trying to knock into as little people as possible.

Stiles runs through the crowd, almost skipping with excitement. He gets to the small marketplace, swinging around the newly erected festive polls.

He almost slips on the paved floor when he sees the ocean. He looks out, taking in the sight he hasn't seen since childhood, before tripping over his feet in haste to get to it.

He almost gets to the edge, when he's knocked to the side and almost over into the water.

A hand snatches out and pulls at his arm just as he loses his footing, bringing him back on to solid ground.

He spins around eyes accusing and already letting out a "watch where you're going," before trailing off halfway through and letting out a small cough.

The man who pulled him away from the water is standing next to a black horse with a guilty look on his face, but what a gorgeous face it is. He looks to be around his mid 20’s, with lightly tanned skin, complemented by his dark brown slicked back hair. His eyes stand out from the rest of his face, a bright blue colour that sparkles in the sun.

Stiles runs a hand self consciously through his hair after realising he's just been staring at him for the last minute.

"I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?" The man interrupts Stiles' thoughts, and by the way he says it, Stiles guesses it's not the first time he's asked. His hand moves to brush against Stiles' shoulder.

"I, ah, uh yeah no, no. I'm okay," Stiles stutters out, a blush rising to cover his face.

"Are you sure?" the man asks, voice low, concerned.

"Yeah. I just wasn't looking where I was going. But I'm great!" Stiles winces at his own enthusiasm, but the man just smiles, hand still resting against Stiles' shoulder.

"Thank goodness," the man flexes his hand, before moving it back to his side. Stiles whines internally at the loss of it.

"I'm Prince Peter, of the Hale Isles," the man says, eyes intent on Stiles face, before half bowing.

"Prince Stiles, of Beaconheim," Stiles returns, bowing with his head down to cover his now red face.

“Prince?” Peter asks, before kneeling in front of him. “My apologies, I didn’t realise.”

“Uh, please stand up,” Stiles says, face still flaming. “God, this is awkward. Not that you’re awkward, just that, cause, well, I mean. I’m awkward. You’re gorgeous. Wait. What?”

Stiles mentally face palms as Peter smirks, a small chuckle escaping the man.

“I would like to formally apologise for hitting you with my horse, and for every moment after,” Peter says while Stiles goes through his mini mental breakdown.

When the words catch up with him, Stiles lets out a rushed “no no no, it’s fine! I mean, if you’d have hit my sister Lydia, it would be yeesh. Cause, you know-”

Stiles cuts off through his ramblings when his backwards pacing lead him into the horse. He turns around, runs a hand along the horse’s mane.

“But,” Stiles continues, turning back around as if he hadn’t stopped, “lucky you, it’s just me.”

“Just you?” Peter questions, voice smooth and sweet like honey.

Stiles smiles at him, zoning out again, and Peter seems content to just stand there, till stiles suddenly jumps, tripping over his own feets.

“The bells. The coronation! I-,” Stiles continues to move backwards, back hitting a pole, “I have to go. I better go. Uh.”

Stiles turns around, walks a few paces, before spinning around, waving and letting out a high-pitched “bye!” at Peter.

Peter stares after him, a pleased smirk on his face, hand raised in a small wave of his own.

❅~*❅*~❅

A low hum echoes around the hall from the choir on the second floor. Guests line the seats, not a single spot left empty.

Lydia and Stiles stand at the front of the room, backs turned to the guest to face the priest that would name Lydia queen.

The priest leans to the side, picking up a small, golden tiara with a single blue jewel. Lydia tilts her head down, and the tiara is placed in her hair. She stands back up straight, mouth set in a determined line, before looking down at the sceptre and orb laying on a cushion, held by the priest.

She reaches out her hands slowly, stopping at a small cough.

She looks up, and the priest whispers, “your gloves.”

Lydia stares at her trembling hands, before pulling off the material covering one. She does the same for the other hand, placing the gloves between the two items on the cushion.

She looks at the jewels, taking in two slow, deep breaths, and picks them up, turning around to face the crowd of people.

The priest chants in latin whilst Lydia stands, mouth set in a straight line. The people in front of her stand.

Lydia twitches. She can already feel the items growing cold in her hands. She looks down at them, noting the layer of ice around her hands with a sense of dread.

The priest finishes of with “Hail Queen Lydia of Beaconheim,” and before he concludes the last word, the jewels are placed back on the cushion and Lydia’s gloves are pulled tightly on her hands.

The mass of people chant back the last sentence after the priest whilst Lydia looks on with a grim smile of satisfaction.

❅~*❅*~❅

The band’s music is loud, the heavy beat reverberating around the room. Couples are dancing in the middle of the ballroom, laughing and twirling around. The ones that aren’t dancing are around the outside, clapping along and cheering.

The music cuts of at the end of the song, and all attention is drawn to the front of the room. A short man wearing a simple suit and tie spreads his arms out to the side, and announces the arrival of the queen and prince.

Lydia walks out slowly, purple cloak sliding along the floor behind her, and stops, turning around to face the cheering crowd. Stiles stumbles in after a few seconds, standing as far away from his sister as socially appropriate and giving a small wave to the people.

The announcer slowly shifts him till he is right to the side of his sister, despite his mumbled questioning of “are you sure? Here? I don’t think I’m supposed to-.”

The people in front of them clap, and the music slowly starts up again, while Stiles runs a hand through his hair, sneaking quick looks over at his sister.

“Hi,” murmurs Lydia, and Stiles startles.

“Hi- hi me?” he asks, and Lydia nods. “Oh. Um, hi?”

Lydia looks to the side, hiding an eyeroll, before looking back at him. “You look handsome.”

“Thank you,” Stiles responds, seemingly at lost for what to respond. “You look handsome as well. Wait not handsome, cause you’re a girl, but, uh, beautiful. You look beautiful.”

Lydia lets out a stunted laugh, thanking him, before looking back out at the ballroom.

“So,” she continues a few minutes later, “this is what a party looks like.”

Stiles stares at the ground, and lets out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“It’s warmer than I thought.”

Lydia ignores Stiles’ awkwardness, acting as if the silence between them was normal.

Stiles goes to speak again when he’s interrupted by two men walking up.

“Your majesties, may I introduce the duke of Venator, Chris Argent” the shorter of the two announces, and a grey haired man steps forward, bowing lowly before laying his hand out, palm up.

“As your closest partner in trade,” Chris drawls out, “it seems only fitting that I offer you your first dance as queen.

Lydia coughs, grimacing slightly, before looking over at Stiles and smirking.

“No thank you, I don’t dance,” Lydia says, before turning to face Stiles. “But my brother does?”

Stiles shakes his head, glaring at his sister, before his arm is taken in a tight grip and he’s pulled to the centre of the room.

Stiles stands still whilst Chris circles around him.

“So great to have the gates open,” Chris says slowly, looking at Stiles in the eye, “it’s a wonder why they shut them in the first place. You wouldn't happen to know, would you?”

“No?” Stiles half responds, half questions, and Chris stares at him before nodding, and bows again.

“Thank you for the dance,” he says, voice low, giving Stiles shivers. Stiles nods in response, slowly backing away and turning around, all but running back to the front of the room.

“Having fun?” Lydia asks, and laughs dryly at the mock-glare Stiles gives in response.

His face softens though, and a small smile shapes his lips. “I’ve actually never been better. This is so amazing. I wish it could be like this all the time.” Stiles finishes on a whisper, looking up at his sister.

“Me too,” she smiles, before looking off to the side, frowning. “But it can’t.”

“Why not?” Stiles asks, eyes desperate. “I mean-.”

“It just can’t,” Lydia cuts him off, eyes cold, and Stiles brings hands back he didn’t realise were reaching out.

Stiles nods to himself, muttering “excuse me for a minute,” before walking off into the crowd people dancing.

Stiles walks through the waltzing couple, murmuring out “excuse me” every few steps. He turns to exit the hall when someone shoves him from behind, and he slips, falling towards the floor.

He winces, waiting for the impact that never comes, and realises someone caught his hand.

“Glad I caught you,” Peter smiles smugly, before pulling Stiles up against his body.

“Peter!” Stiles exclaims, startled, but automatically moving along with Peter when he’s pulled into the waltz, laughing.

Before Stiles realises, they’re off to the side, talking. Stiles is flailing about, arms waving wildly along to his stories, and Peter leans back, watching Stiles’ lips move.

They slowly wander outside, and Stiles is feeling incredible. He’s never had so much attention from someone before, and the way Peter stares at him makes him feel like he’s worth more than anything in the world.

“So wait,” Stiles interrupts Peter’s story once they sit down at one of the balconies, “you have how many older brothers?

“12 older brothers. Some of them even pretended I was invisible, literally, for two years. It was horrible, but I guess it’s what brothers do.”

“And sisters,” Stiles sighs. “Lydia and I were really close when we were younger, but then one day she just.. shut me out, and I never knew why.”

Peter reaches across, talking one of Stiles’ hands in his. Stiles looks up, eyes wide, and Peter smiles at him.

“I would never shut you out.”

Stiles lowers his eyes to their joint hands, before standing up and pulling Peter along. They walk around the castle till they come to the waterfall just outside the gates.

Stiles pulls Peter to the ground, sighing.

“I don’t know what it is, but I just-, I’ve never met someone who thinks so much like me,” Stiles whispers, taking Peter’s other hand in his.

“You and I, we were just meant to be,” Peter drawls out, voice low and gravelly. He pulls one of his hands out from Stiles, resting it around Stiles’ face, and brings him in, noses touching.

“Can I say something crazy,” Peter breathes, and Stiles nods slightly, not wanting to move.

“Will you marry me?”

Stiles smiles, the air literally whooshing out his lungs, and brings his lips up to Peter’s ear.

“I’ll say something even crazier,” Stiles mumbles, hands still clutching at Peters. “Yes.”

❅~*❅*~❅

By the time Stiles and Peter make it back to the ballroom, the music has died down, people gathering around in groups to talk and eat.

They push their way through the crowd, Stiles holding on to Peter’s hand, till they make it up to Lydia.

“Lydia!” Stiles interrupts, and Lydia excuses herself from the two men she was talking to, turning around and raising an eyebrow at Stiles.

“I mean, queen,” Stiles corrects himself. “Yeah, um. Me again. May I introduce Price Peter of the Hale Isles.”

“Your majesty,” Peter bows, before looking at Stiles.

Stiles smiles serenely at Peter, before facing Lydia. “We would like your blessings. For our marriage.”

“Marriage?” Lydia repeats, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. “‘I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

“Well, we haven’t sorted out all the details,” Peter comments, “but I’m sure it’ll be spectacular. There’ll be food and wine, and I could invite my whole family.”

“No, just. Wait. Slow down. No-ones family is coming to stay here, and no-one’s getting married.

“Wait, what?” Stiles asks, and Lydia stares at him.

“May I speak to you, brother? Alone.”

“No,” Stiles replies, voice starting to get louder. “Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us.”

“Fine. You can’t marry a man you just met.”

“You can if it’s true love,” Stiles responds, hands wrapping around Peter’s bicep.

“Stiles, what do you know about true love,” Lydia responds quietly.

Stiles stares at her, growing angrier by the second. “More than you!” he exclaims. “All you know is how to shut people out!”

Lydia jerks back as if slapped. Her face wipes clean of emotion, and she walks up to Stiles. “You ask for my blessing, and my answer is no. Now, excuse me.”

“Your majesty,” Peter calls out, hand moving forward, “if i could ease your-.”

“No, you may not.” Lydia cuts him off, hands moving down in a slicing motion. “And I, I think you should go. The party is over,” Lydia says as she continues walking, “close the gates.”

“What?” Stiles whispers, before running forward to Lydia. “Lydia no! No, wait!”

He grabs at her hand, pulling one of the gloves off. Lydia spins around, reaching out for the material.

“Give me my glove!”

“Lydia please,” Stiles begs, glove held tightly in his hands, “please, I can’t live like this anymore!”

“Then leave.”

Stiles stares, eyes shining, watching as Lydia turns back around and makes for the door. Before he can stop himself, Stiles is shouting out at Lydia.

“What did I ever do to you!”

“Enough Stiles.”

“No, why,” Stiles continues as if he wasn’t interrupted. “Why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the world out! What are you so afraid of!”

“I said enough!” Lydia responds, spinning around. Ice shoots out from her hand, circling around her in jagged patterns, points projecting out to the crowd. Lydia looks at the ice, then at her ungloved hand, eyes wide and scared. She brings the hand to her chest.

“Sorcery,” Chris hisses, “I knew there was something dubious going on here.”

“Lydia,” Stiles whispers, staring at his sister.

Lydia walks backwards to the door, hand fumbling for the door knob, until she finds it and opens the door, fleeing.

Lydia rushes to the entrance, banging open the door. More people wait outside the door, and start clapping when they see her.

She pushes through them, pausing to catch her breath, and a lady looks at her with concern.

“Queen Lydia, are you alright?”

Lydia backs away, ungloved hand coming into contact with the edge of one of the fountains out front. The metal around her hand freezes, spreading around and freezing the whole foundation and the water coming out.

The people around her gasp, stepping back from her.

The door to the castle opens again, the duke stepping out and pointing at her.

“There she is! Stop her!” he yells and Lydia holds her hands up in front of her.

“Please just, stay away from me! Stay away!” Lydia pleads, but without her glove, the magic is uncontrollable. Ice shoots out from her palm, coating the entrance and knocking the duke and several others off their feet.

“Monster,” the duke mutters, before shouting louder, “Monster!”

Lydia turns in a circle, bringing the hand back up against her chest. The townsfolk take a step back when she faces them, and she backs up a few steps, before running.

“Lydia!” Stiles calls out from the entrance, seeing the tail of her cloak disappear behind the crowd of people.

He runs down the stairs, pushing through the clusters of people, shouting out for her.

Lydia makes it to the docks, foot pressing up right against the edge of the water. She turns around, taking a step back, and the water under her foot freezes.

She gasps, before looking back, seeing Stiles near the steps to the docks.

“Wait, please!” Stiles calls out, but Lydia shakes her head, slowly putting down one foot onto the water, then another, faster and faster till she’s running across the water, freezing it under her feet with each step she takes.

“Lydia! Stop!” Stiles shouts, feet slipping on the frozen water. Peter grabs onto his arms. pulling him back onto solid ground.

“No,” Stiles whispers, looking out as Lydia runs further and further out of sight.

“The ice,” Peter murmurs, looking over at the water. The frozen path of Lydias slowly spreads out, solidifying the rest of the ocean. It spreads out all over Beaconheim and up, covering the land in an icy winter chill.

Stiles makes his way back up to the town centre, hands wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” Peter asks, voice low.

“No.”

“Did you know?” he questions.

“No,” Stiles responds, pacing.

“It’s snowing! The queen has cursed this land! She must be stopped.” Chris shouts, and Stiles runs over to him.

“Wait, no! My sister’s not a monster! It was an accident! She was scared. She didn’t mean it, she didn’t mean any of this.” Stiles starts of loud, voice getting quieter as he continues. “Tonight was my fault. I pushed her, so I’m the one who needs to go after her. Bring me my horse!”

“What? No,” Peter responds, “it’s too dangerous.”

“Lydia’s not dangerous,” Stiles says, accepting one of the cloaks brought out to him. “I’m going to bring her back and we can fix this. But I need you here. To take care of Beaconheim.”

“On my honour,” Peter nods, mouth curling at the ends as Stiles turns to his horse. Stiles hikes a leg over the horse, lifting himself up, before shouting, “I leave Prince Peter in charge."

He looks over at Peter’s worried face, and smiles. “Don’t worry. She’s my sister. She would never hurt me.”

With that he nudges the horse, galloping off through the gates and into the harsh, frosty night.

❅~*❅*~❅

Lydia climbs further up the hill, cloak billowing in the breeze. The wind is howling around her like wolves. 

She treks up the mountain face, hands moving to wrap around herself.

"Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show," she mutters to herself. "Well I guess now they know."

She walks several more steps before stopping, pulling off the other glove and flinging it up to be carried away by the wind. She flexes her hands out, watching as small icy flaked form to be whisked away by the wind, and smiles.

"They can't hold me back anymore," she whispers, unclipping her cloak and running up the snow. She turns around, still moving backwards, to looks down at Beaconheim.

She turns back around, running until she comes to a large gap. She flings her arms out, and ice forms together into the beginnings of a staircase. She puts a foot on it, and it solidifies under her. 

Running faster than before, she races up the stairs, forming more in front of her till she comes to the other side.

She spins around on the new snow, before stamping her foot down, a large flake of snow hardening under her foot and around her. She thrusts her clenched hands up, and feels the the snow under her propelling her up, her own castle taking shape around her in ice.

Lydia looks up at the ceiling of her icy fortress. "I don't need them anymore. I'm free," she laughs. She plucks the tiara from her hair, flinging it to the side, and slowly her clothes are covered in sparkling blue. She undoes her hair, shaking her head, and walks out to her balcony.

"I'm sorry, Stiles. You're better off without me," she murmurs to the wind, looking around at the snow falling and down where she knows Beaconheim and her little brother are. She shakes her head at herself.

"I just need to let it go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind ran out of creative juices for names of towns, so for Stiles', it's Beaconheim (heim means home in German), and  
> for Chris Argent's, it's 'Venator' which means hunter in Latin.


End file.
